Johnnie Fox’s Irish Snug is not a name to inspire confidence. But staff at the Irish-themed hole-in-the-wall treated us well the other night when we gathered to celebrate the ** [expletive deleted] birthday of Wingy. Manager Morgan went so far as to comp our grub and, in a rather delicious misunderstanding by our otherwise completely competent and helpful waitress, all of my drinks rather than his.

The birthday boy had just come from seeing a new movie, Juno, and brought along a co-worker, CH. She quietly observed the goings-on around her and, I suspect, took mental notes for her future stand-up act. Not that there was a whole lot happening, really, although Wing-y, unleashed by the attention and a few tequila shots, was soon indulging in even more hair-stroking than usual, which he augmented by planting big wet smooches on anyone who came too close. Other uncomfortable moments were provided by Dan and Sara, who dropped by just long enough to tell me about how they’d run into my ex* a month or so ago. Since I didn’t know either of them that well—Dan I’d met a couple of times through a mutual friend, Sara and I had met through this site and had gone on one chemistry-free date—I had to ask (against my better judgment) how my name had come up. “Oh,” Dan said. “We were talking about Internet dating and Sara mentioned she’d gone on a couple of dates and one of them was with this writer…” Thanks for coming, drive safely.

Later, the party moved to Republic, a dance emporium across the street from the Snug. We settled into a semi-private room overlooking busy Granville Street where two DJs spun low-key hip-hop and R ’n’ B grooves. I got into the rhythm, more or less, and shook my moneymaker. This marked my second time on a dancefloor in less than one week (the other was at my company Christmas bash last Saturday night). More spectacularly, at one point I suddenly heard loud girl voices calling my name. I had been recognized—at a packed, hip dance club, no less! Sure, it was just by a couple of ladies from the office (one of whom was there to support her DJ hubby), but I hadn’t felt so popular since that afternoon this past summer, when my yoga instructor called out my name after noticing me looking for a place to hang my towel on the nude beach.

*In my first draft I referred to her as “one of my exes.” Then I was going to change that to the more accurate “my most recent ex.” But that makes it sound as though I have a series of exes, one right after another, when in fact there is usually a period of convalescence in between. I wonder if there is a clearer solution to this problem of semantics.